


Singapore Remembers

by Visardist



Category: Paris Burning (thecitysmith)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:24:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1768936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Visardist/pseuds/Visardist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They think she is the first City here. They are wrong, but it hurts less to have them think that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Singapore Remembers

They think she is the first City here. They are wrong, but it hurts less to have them think that.

She remembers the stories Temasek told her, of the princes that came, that ruled for a time and died or left.  She tells these stories as if they were her own, and does not let the historians question her beyond what she remembers.

Temasek was a few shades darker than her. That, she remembers. She looks for him in the boys that pass by, the men, who carry the names Muhammad or Ibrahim or Iskandar. But, of course, he is no longer there.

She is young, for a City. She is reminded of that all the time. She is also young for a country, and that burden is seen as a blessing. She is the only City, and she is the Capital City, and she is Singapore, a recursive loop that she tries not to dwell upon.

(there are no fights to be the Capital City here. there were none when she still had a brother, but they were not their own country then.)

Her name is old, but she is not. When she was a child still, she was held by her brother and sung to sleep. He never questioned the difference of their skin, her resemblance to the dockworkers from far away.

He told her, “since you have no name yet, I will give you my name. You shall be Singapura, and I will stay Temasek.”

She doesn’t correct the British men who map Temasek’s island. She lets them call her Singapore.

Perhaps she should have corrected them. Perhaps her brother would still be here. Perhaps they could have shared space on their island, been twins across their tiny river that does not divide them.

She is lonely on her island.


End file.
